


Bully, Villain, Blood-Traitor

by Froggy1988



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Hogwarts Eighth Year
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:08:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26875684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Froggy1988/pseuds/Froggy1988
Summary: Malfoy switched sides in the final battle, now back at Hogwarts to retake his final year he finds himself hated by everybody, Gryffindors and Slytherins alike. His assets frozen and his parents on the run, he has nothing left. Hermione Granger, the girl he gave up everything to save, is the only person who will reach out to him. Why did he do it? Why did he save her? A muggle-born.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 7
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, any of the characters, books, or films nor am I making any profit off of them.
> 
> Notes: I began writing this on FF.Net about four years ago and never finished it, but I thought I might do a little rewriting and editing, post up what I've already written and then work on finishing it.
> 
> Rating: This will be rated teen for most of the story, but there will be a few mature scenes in future chapters hence the mature rating. So do be aware, and I will listed warnings at the top of all new chapters.

Chapter One

Hermione didn't think she'd ever spent so long just looking at a person. True, there were people she spent most days with, especially the last year living in a tent. People like Ron and Harry, but she didn't just look at them, she listened to them, she talked to them, played games with them, argued with them, lectured them, but actually very little time was spent solely looking at them. It seemed such an intimate thing, just to look at somebody. Especially here, in the hospital wing, where he lay unawares of her eyes drifting over his face.

He was so pale, she knew that he had always been pale, but this was something different, this was as if all the blood had been leached from his body. She could see blue veins whispering under the skin of his cheeks, the brief bristle of hair moving as he breathed from between blue tinged lips. Despite how still he was, there was nothing peaceful about him, the white skin, white sheets, and white hair were betrayed by the shocking red streaks of blood, dried to rusty brown in places, but still an unnerving reminder of the violence that had passed.

Hermione knew that by now people would be looking for her, trying to seek comfort with those that had survived, that were still alive, dra ing comfort from the knowledge that there were some people untouched by this, at least physically. She knew that there were other people, here, in this hospital wing that deserved her vigil more than the boy lying in front of her. She knew that soon the hospital wing would once again become full of the grieving and inconsolable. The occupants of the castle would be waking up from the dreamless sleep that Madame Pomfrey's potions provided them. They would wake up and realize that the sun had risen once more, but in rising it had revealed the bodies of deatheater as yet uncollected, crumbled walls, and children who had grown up all too quickly. They would mourn before they would rebuild, and she doubted that any of them would feel any happiness in their new found freedom from Voldemort for the next few months.

Now she could hear footsteps echoing in the halls beyond the hospital wing. She did not have long before the quiet was disturbed, and yet, she still couldn't move. She still didn't have an answer. Why had he done it? She looked back at the face of the boy who she had learnt to hate and pity in equal measures. The boy who had spent years tormenting her, the boy who was the total opposite of all that she and her friends were. The boy, who yesterday, had stood up to Voldermort, changing sides at the last moment.

_He looked like he was asleep. Cradled like a small child in Hagrid's oversized arms her friend, Harry, was dead._

_The fight that she had unknowingly been drawn into six years ago was over._

_They had lost._

_"Harry Potter is dead. He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him. We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone. The battle is won. You have lost half of your fighters. My Death Eaters outnumber you, and the Boy Who Lived is finished. There must be no more war. Anyone who continues to resist, man, woman or child, will be slaughtered, as well as every member of their family. Come out of the castle now, kneel before him, and you shall be spared. Your parents and children, your brothers and sisters will live and be forgiven, and you will join me in the new world we shall build together."_

_Hermione was barely aware of the despair rippling around her. She was barely aware of anything, it seemed like her whole world had shrunken to that limp figure whom Hagrid was gently laying on the floor. There had been a prophesy, there had been a plan, there had been the trust that good would triumph over evil, now, there was nothing._

_She was aware that a cry had escaped her lips. Then there was a wall of noise as others cried out in despair and defiance. She saw somebody rushing forwards wand raised, and she barely had time to register that it was Neville before his body got knocked backwards as if by a great force, and his wand spun out of his hand. Not Neville too, she thought to herself, but the boy got up seemingly unharmed and stared down the tall wizard in front of him._

_"Who is this?" Voldermort snarled._

_"Longbottom Master." Bellatrix Lestrange said stepping forwards. "He's the son of the aurors, he's been giving the Carrows trouble all year."_

_"Ahh, yes, Longbottom. You may think that I would want to punish you for your insolence Longbottom, but the new world is going to need strong young wizards like yourself. Especially those of pure blood. So instead, I will make you an offer. Join me Longbottom, become a deatheater, and all will be forgiven. You will have wealth and glory that you have never before dreamed of."_

_"Never!" Neville shouted._

"So hasty, but that is a symptom of your youth. Perhaps I have not made the choice clear to you. Perhaps you do not understand what will happen to you if you do not side with me. "

_Voldemort's snake like eyes meet Hermione's, and for an instant it felt like she had been doused with ice cold water, but then there was a sickening lurch as she felt something grab at her stomach pulling her upwards in a rush. Invisible ropes snaked around her wrists and ankles so tight that they burned and tingled, her body complaining about the lack of blood. It was over in seconds and she was there, hanging three feet up in the air, facing Voldermort and his crowd of followers._

_"This one however, this one is a mudblood, she is worthess to me. She will be the first in the cleanse. Today we celebrate the coming of the age of the pure borns."_

_Voldermort raised his wand._

_Hermione knew that it was the end. Thoughts of her parents flashed through her mind and she was relieved that they were happy in Australia, and would not mourn her. She closed her eyes waiting for the end._

_"Not her! Expelliarmus! "_

_She opened her eyes in shook, not at the words, but at whom the voice belonged to. There was a red flash and for an instant Voldemort's wand hand shook, but there was little more effect than that. With a vengeful smile on his face he turned slowly to look at the teenage boy behind him._

_Draco Malfoy stared with wide eyes at his outstretched wand arm, as shocked as everybody around him. There was stunned silence as Voldemort's lipless mouth twisted into a smile._

_The white and black haired woman stood to Draco's side screamed wordlessly, the truth of what was about to happen sinking into her mind._

_"Sectumsempra."_

_Hermione watched as huge slashes appeared on Draco's body, his robes torn as if invisible claws ripped at his body. The onslaught only lasted seconds, but the damaged it left was horrendous. It was not the clean easy death of the killing curse, this was a flaying. Strips of skin peeled from Draco's chest, the muscles underneath laid bare. The last flicker of Voldemort's wand had left a wide, open wound up the side of Draco's neck, and it was this he clutched at as he gurgled blood and collapsed to his knees._

_There was silence as Voldermort turned back to Hermione, his cool demeanour flickering._

_"I apologise for the brief pause to this evening's entertainment. "_

_There was a short forced laugh from a few members of the crowd of deatheaters._

_"Crucio."_

_Hermione has expected pain, but none had come. She couldn't understand why the curse had not worked. At first she thought the murmur of surprise that had run through the crowd was because the curse had failed, perhaps Voldermort was losing power for some reason. But then she noticed a movement below and in front of her. And she looked down to see a twitching and blood soaked bundle of robes, indistinguishable if not for the flash of white hair._

She looked over to the crowd of deatheater, and there, where moments before Draco had be kneeling, was only his mother, her arm reaching out in silent plea, her face tormented as if it were she herself who were undergoing the pain of the cruciatus curse.

_Hermione looked back down, with nothing to stem the blood the pool of red surrounding Malfoy was growing at an alarming rate. She hadn't known a person could lose that much blood and still be alive, and as she watched his trembling lessened as if she was watching the very life drain out of him. Draco Malfoy, had just took the cruciatus curse for her, more than that, Draco Malfoy had tried to save her, Hermione Granger, a muggle born._

_"Petrificus.."_

_There was a flash of blue light and Hermione looked up just as Neville flew backward once again. He had found his wand in the distraction that Draco had caused, but he had not been quick enough._

_"I guess I can take that as your final answer. On your head be it." Voldermort snarled at him. He raised his wand. For a few moments nothing happened, then the sorting hat flew from one of the smashed windows of the castle, and gracefully placed itself upon Neville's head._

_"There will be no more sorting at Hogwarts school, there will be no more houses. The emblem, shield and colours of my noble ancestor Salazar Slytherin, will suffice for everyone, won't they, Mr Longbottom? Neville here is now going to demonstrate what happens to anybody foolish enough to continue to oppose me."_

_Hermione watched in horror as the flames rose up from beneath the hat, Neville her friend, so brave just moments before, started to scream._

"Granger."

The hoarse voice woke her out of her memories. She blinked staring around her, for a moment surprised to find herself inside, and firmly upon a chair. They were just memories, but they were so sharp, so real that she could still smell the bitterness of burning hair. Still hear the screams. But it was not screams that she had heard, it was a voice, her name. She looked down to the bed beside her and found herself looking into two ice blue eyes staring back. He was awake.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione had never been popular. As a young child she didn't have friends, however hard she tried she just couldn't get people to like her. So, instead of friends she spent time with her books. The books didn't judge her, and the books were full of faraway places that she would one day visit. Places where she might find friends, places where she might belong.

Then one day she came home from primary school to find Professor Flitwick sat on her parent's sofa drinking peppermint tea. That day she found out she was a witch, and the reason she had no friends, the reason she didn't fit in, was suddenly clear. She didn't fit in because this was not the world she was meant to fit into. She was a witch, and she would go to Hogwarts, and she would make loads of friends who would understand her because they were all the same, they were all witches. But first, she needed books; if she were going to be a witch she would need to read all the books teaching her how to be one.

On her first day at Hogwarts everything seemed to be going to plan. Her research was paying off, and although it was only her second time seeing magic (the first being when she went to pick up her books at Diagon alley) she felt she held her own. Then she was sorted into Gryffindor, as were four other girls who she would spend the next seven years sharing a dorm room with. It would be like having a readymade group of friends.

Except, she hadn't read the right things, because when she had tried to start a conversation about wrist movements in transfiguration they gave her an empty smile, nodded politely and then started to talk about their favourite wizard bands. Hermione had no idea about popular wizarding culture, she tried to ask about their opinions on centaur rights instead, but the girls shrugged and talked about a band called the half centaurs. She tried to tell herself that she would make a better impression the next day, but as she lay with her curtains closed round her bed she overheard a whispered conversation between Lavender Brown and Parvati.

"She's a weird one."

"She's a muggle born isn't she? Maybe she just doesn't know how to ..like talk normal."

"They don't all have hair like that do they?"

"Well, they don't have hair straightening potions."

"But did she have to ask about politics? Like, that's the type of thing my parents talk about, how boring. I hope she doesn't always act like that. I mean, can you imagine having to talk about that stuff every night?"

"Maybe the sorting hat got it wrong, maybe she's meant to be in Ravenclaw."

"We could suggest she get resorted. Anyways, what do you think of the boys, Harry Potter is quite cute isn't he?"

On the morning of Lavender’s funeral, this was the memory that would not leave Hermione alone. Here, at the first funeral she had been to since she was five, standing at the back of the crowd in the graveyard full of Gryffindor’s past and present, she couldn't stop her thoughts going back to that night. Six years sharing a room with Lavender Brown, and the two memories that stood out in her mind were the insult she felt she had been dealt the first night in the wizarding world, and Fenrir bent over her body, his hungry rasping animalistic sounds. Hermione had shot him with a jinx, and he had flown through the air, she had only caught a brief glimpse of the girl that had been beneath him, but those glassy eyes now stared at her every night. She had tried to think of a positive moment that had been spent with Lavender, a moment when she had not looked at her with exasperation or irritation. But all that came to her was those two nights. Lavender Brown's biggest effect on her life, had been her death.

Hermione looked up at Ron. He looked as if his eyes were about to brim over with tears. Hermione had never understood Ron and Lavender’s relationship, Ron had found the girl annoying for the most part, but she guessed you couldn't spend three months with your tongue down some bodies throat without feeling some affection towards them. She reached over to take Ron's hand, but he shrugged it off and shot her an annoyed look. The girl who had come between them in sixth year was coming between them again in her death.

Lavender's parents were a couple in their mid-sixties. They stood next to the grave thanking everybody for being there, they had two other children in their thirties, Lavender had been a surprise, and unexpected baby later in their lives than they’d expected one. Though they had been totally besotted with her from the day she was born. She had been their angel, their joy. Afterwards they sought out Ron, him having been Lavender's first boyfriend, they wanted to hear stories, wanted some memories of their daughter to hold onto. Ron froze; he gapped at them wordlessly.

"I'm sorry for your loss." Hermione said trying to fill in the silence. "Lavender was a lovely girl."

"She talked about you too Hermione dear, she said that you were the cleverest girl in the school. She told us that you helped her with her charms homework." Mrs Brown looked at her with a desperate expression, her eyes red from three days of crying.

Hermione tried to remember a time when she had helped Lavender with her homework, she had a vague idea that she might have done at one point, she had looked over everybody in Gryffindor's homework at one point, but she couldn't actually recall the incident her parents were talking about.

"She was brilliant at divination."

"And she had such respect for you Harry." Mr Brown said smiling kindly.

"She was a lovely girl." Harry said, parroting Hermione's own words.

They were rescued at that point by Neville. The young man had changed in the year since they had seen him, he held himself with a new confidence. He didn't hesitate in reaching out his hand to shake Mr. Brown's. He didn't flinch from their grief, instead he told them about Lavender joining Dumbledore's army. He told them that she had stood up for what she believed in, she had fought bravely, and she had been a motherly figure to the younger students over the hard year, and yet she had still found moments to have fun, and be a teenager. He portrayed a girl much braver and deeper than Hermione had known, yet she didn't know if it was to comfort her parents, or if it was true, and she’d overlooked something in the girl who’d slept in the bed besides hers.

There would be another funeral tomorrow, and the day after, every day for weeks to come, fifty on their side had lost their lives, and they had done so to protect Hogwarts. Harry had made a promise to attend each and everyone's funeral, even those for whom he did not know. Hermione had suggested that it was too much, but he had insisted, so she had said she would go with him. Ron was too far in grief for his brother to go to more than a handful for the people he’d known best.

She was relieved when she got back to the castle and told the boys that she was going to go to the library. They hadn't questioned it, going to the library was the most natural thing for her. It was a place where she could find peace and quiet. But as she headed towards her haven she passed a painting of a healer in white and her mind drifted to Malfoy.

It had been three days since she had sat by Draco's bedside. Three days since his eyes had flickered open just to say her name and give a soft smile as he passed back into unconsciousness. She had not gone back; she’d not felt the need to, she was confident that he was alive, and that was more than she could say for a lot of people. There had been a lot happening within the last few days. The castle had been emptied of its younger students, and instead filled with the families of the injured and lost. Hermione had barely had time to eat, let alone visit the hospital wing to see a boy who she’d always considered an enemy. But, that wasn't the only reason that she’d not visited. She was still questioning why he had done it, why he’d saved her? Why it seemed like he’d switched sides at the last minute, when it looked like the battle was already lost. A little thought started to niggle at her, she remembered Neville’s words about Lavender, a girl she’d known for years, a girl she’d judged within hours of meeting, a girl that after six years she hadn’t actually known. Maybe, like Lavender, there was something else to Draco that she had missed all these years.

Hermione felt like her mind, her own private library with all its knowledge, the place within herself she could always find sanctuary, had had enough. It didn't want any more knowledge in it. It didn't want to take in another thing, it didn't want to answer another question, it just wanted to rest, there was no room for thoughts and feelings, there was just exhaustion. But, she knew rest would not come, not when the question was still unanswered, even when she did not want the answer. Her inquiring mind was sometimes a gift and sometimes a curse.

Madame Pomfrey was sat at her desk by the door. She looked up and gave a tired but welcoming smile as she walked in.

"Miss Granger, I hope you're well."

"Yes, just coming for a visit if that's alright."

"Of course, and who may I ask are you visiting?"

Hermione looked around her, the hospital wing was less full than it had been three days ago, when Madame Pomfrey had been rushing between the wing and the classes that were being used for the overfill of the injured. Now most of the injured had been moved, the worst cases having been moved to Saint Mungo’s, the most stable having been moved to the empty dorms where they could rest up with minimal supervision.

"Malfoy." Hermione said.

A flicker of shock passed over Madame Pomfrey's tired face, but she soon hid it.

"I'm sure it'll be nice for him to have a visitor, but I must warn you Miss Granger that he is still not recovered from his injuries. It was not just the blood loss; his mind has been affected too. I have no doubt that it will heal, but... Voldemort was a master at the curses, he had the most powerful cruciatus curse ever known. If Draco had not passed out due to the blood loss, then he would have been driven insane permanently."

“Are you saying he’s currently … not sane?”  
  


“He screams, and rambles, but like I said, I don’t think it’s permanent. Sometimes he has known exactly who I am and where he is. I think sometimes he even has an idea of why he is in here, and the extent of his injuries. Other times, I don not know what he is seeing, or who he is talking too.”

"Is he conscious?"

"He passes in and out of consciousness. You may find him lucid enough to talk to , but as I warned, you may not." Madame Pomfrey had stood up as she was talking and she led Hermione past the curtained off beds. Hermione caught glimpses of people she knew as she walked past. Madame Pomfrey didn't stop till the last bed on the left. She reached out and drew the curtains back.

"Mr Malfoy, I have a visitor for you."

Draco was lying in the bed; he was looking behind Madame Pomfrey, directly at Hermione. She felt uncomfortable under his scrutiny, she could tell he was in one of his aware periods. He looked better than he’d done when she’d last seen him,. He was not as pale and the blood had been washed from his hair. She could see the bandages wrapped over one of his shoulders, and a thick pad was on his neck.

"Any trouble just call me over. "Madame Pomfrey said quietly as she turned to leave. Hermione hesitated, for a moment she just stared at the boy, he looked so small and young in the hospital bed. Then his eyes flickered away from her, and it was like the spell was broken. She no longer hesitated, stepping inside the curtains and drawing them closed again. She looked at the chair besides the bed but decided to stand. Standing would show that she didn't expect to stay for long, that she didn’t owe him her time.

She looked at Draco. He looked back silently. Hermione knew that she had come here for a reason, because she’d had question, but now stood in front of him she didn't know how to ask, and she was scared what she might hear in return.

"Why Draco? Why did you stand up against Voldemort?"

Draco gave a quiet hoarse laugh, one that didn’t quite sound sane. A laugh of self-resentment, not humor.

"It doesn't matter. It doesn't change anything. "

"What do you mean? What else would you want it to change?"

"Nothing, nothing at all, you're still one of the good guys, one of the heroes, and me, I'm still a villain."

Draco had closed his eyes whilst saying this, and for a moment Hermione wondered if Madame Pomfrey was wrong and that Draco really had lost his mind permanently. He didn't talk to her like this, with emotion, with self-resentment and regret tinging his voice. As far as she was aware he didn't talk like this too anybody, the boy she’d known was arrogant and had thought his opinions to be nothing less than solid truths. She didn't quite know how to respond, but he was talking, and she had to keep him talking if she ever wanted an answer.

"Well, I think it has changed something. There are people in this ward, friends of mine, people who fought with the so-called heroes, that I could be spending my time with, and yet, I'm sat here. I'm sat here hoping you'll get well, before I’ve only ever hoped that you’d disappear."

He gave a moan of acknowledgment, still not looking at her.

"Tell me something Draco, you shouted, 'not her' before you took on Voldemort. Was it me you were shouting about? It seemed like it was me. I was the one that Voldemort was about to attack. And you jumped in front of me when he tried to hit me with the cruciatus curse. Draco, why did you do it? I want to know."

"It doesn't matter now. Nothing matters now. It's all over. He is dead isn't he?" His voice took on a hysterical sound. He sat up, his eyes darting around wildly. "Everybody is saying he's dead. But is he? They said that last time, but he came back. Did you see the body?"

"Voldemort?"

Draco nodded.

"Yes, he is dead. I saw the body, he won't come back this time."

Draco scrutinized her, but then seeming to accept what she said he let out a long sigh and fell back into the pillows, his eyes closing. Hermione waited a few minutes, but it seemed like he’d gone to sleep. She turned on her heels and was just about to leave when his voice, quiet and hoarse now, came from over her shoulder.

"Are my parents in Azkadan?"

"No. They got away. Nobody is looking for them, yet. Too many people are injured."

Draco opened his eyes.

"They left me here."

Hermione was struck by the broken note of his voice. He sounded like a small boy. She saw his eyes water and she wanted to look away.

"I am a blood traitor now. I've been a blood traitor all along. I never wanted to be a death eater. I thought being a Malfoy made me special, but he didn't see us as special, he only cared about what we could give him. He used us like he used everybody else.”

"Your mother did not want to leave you, she was distraught. I think she believed you were dead. But your father dragged her away when they saw that Harry was alive."

He shook his head. He winced with pain, his hand going towards his neck. Hermione was shocked to see that a red spot had started to form on the bandage, his neck wound still bleeding.

"I'll get Madame Pomfrey."

He shook his head again.

Hermione watched as his eyes drifted closed, and for a moment he seemed to pass out of consciousness again. Then he woke with a start and looked around panicked.

She was ready to say goodbye. She really should have just left him at that point, and ask Madame Pomfrey to check on him. He was obviously struggling, but she had spent a year struggling, and it had hardened something inside of her. She tried one last time to get her answer.

"Why did you do it?"

He settled onto the pillows, once again closing his eyes as if the talking was exhausting him. Hermione didn't expect him to answer, but he did.

"I was always watching the three of you. Before the first year, my father told me that Potter might be a powerful dark wizard, the next Voldemort. Bloody Harry Potter, and his fame, the boy who everybody liked, and why? He was a baby the first time Voldemort died, and he came back. So he didn't even kill him as everybody thought. I was supposed to pal up to him, then if he was a dark wizard I’d be in a spot of power, and if he wasn’t, well, being friends with Harry Potter might mean I wouldn’t be tainted by my parents deatheater connections. But he turned me down, me, a Malfoy, and him a jacked up nobody. The boy who lived, and his two friends, Weasley and a Muggle-born. Do you know who I had? Crabbe and Goyle, and they only hung around with me because they're too stupid to come up with their own idea. Crabbe and Goyle, they're loyal in their way, but it's not the same. They're friends because their fathers told them it would be good to get in with the Malfoys. Do you think I don't know that? Do you think I haven't always known. I was always jealous of him. Harry Potter, he doesn't have wealth, he doesn't have pure blood, his parents were nobodies, the most important thing they ever did was dying. He's not a powerful wizard, I get better than him in every class. Did you know that? And he didn't have to be anybody, he wasn't born into a family legacy, he didn't have any responsibilities."

He did. Hermione thought, but she kept quiet. As she was listening to the bitter stream of consciousness coming from the boy his voice was getting drowsier, his words slightly slurred. She wasn't sure if he even realized that she was there anymore, and she was barely following what he was saying.

" I hated him for his popularity and his friends. Then in the third year, I started hating him for other reasons. After you hit me, I started watching you. I told myself I hated you, I was obsessed, I couldn't stop watching you. "

"You hate me."

" I try to hate you; I try so hard. "

His voice was barely a whisper now.

"I'm a blood traitor."

He was gone, his chest rising and falling in the gentle whispers of sleep, so unlike the pain of his words.

She stood up and quietly left. She stopped Madame Pomfrey and told her about the bleeding. She answered by squeezing Hermione’s shoulder and giving a weak reassuring smile.

"His wounds are very difficult to heal, it was a powerful curse by a powerful wizard, but they will heal eventually."

As Hermione walked up to her dorm room she thought about Malfoy's confession.

She had always known that Malfoy was jealous of Harry. It had always been obvious, and she guessed that it was obvious that he was obsessed with him too. So, what had she learned really? That Malfoy had been watching her, well that was strange, had his hate for her really been that deep? That he’d watched her? That he’d actually put effort into hating her as much as he could?

She did however feel sorry for Draco in his current state, and more so for his mother. She had seen the look of desperation on her face as Lucius had physically dragged her away. Harry had filled Hermione in on what had happened in the forest, how Draco's mother had lied to try and save her son. She deified Voldemort only to see her own son throw himself in front of a curse. But it was her own parents she had to concentrate on now; with the war over she was starting to wonder when she could go back to them. She would wait a few more weeks, just to be sure that the left-over death eaters were going to be too busy hiding to be attacking muggles. She had to wait, but right now, what she was desperate for was to be some bodies child again, not a soldier, not a tool in some prophecy, not even a witch. She just wanted to go back to being her parent's daughter.


	3. Chapter three

Chapter 3

Hermione felt the burning sun on her face, the heat was too intense, and she knew she should move, but she was too relaxed. She had been in Australia for a month, yet she was only just feeling like she was able to relax a little. Months of constant moving around, striving to find food, striving to find information, striving to keep away from snatchers, it was hard to accept it was over. Her mind had been in a constant state of anxiety for almost a year. She was till hyperaware, still jumping at shadows. She still felt tired, and older than her eighteen years. A part of her wondered if she would ever be the same again, or like Mad Eye Moody she would be in a state of ‘constant vigilance’.

She looked down at the letter in her hand, it was from Hogwarts. She knew she would have to reply, but not yet, she wasn't ready yet.

She had come to Australia wanting to be her parent's daughter again, she wanted to be Hermione Granger, the girl who liked books, and trips to France, and never ate sweets because she thought it was important to have good teeth. She wanted to feel like she was in control of her own life. But she wasn’t in control of anything, something had happened that she had not expected, her parents had moved on.

Of course, when she had restored her parent's memories they had fallen on her with tears. They could not understand how they could have forgotten their only child's existence for a year. It was the first time that they had been truly touched by magic, and Hermione could tell it had left them feeling fragile and insecure. She had tried to explain why she had done it, but as she had described the wizarding war, and what she had been doing with her year, the look of horror that had grown on their faces had silenced her. She told them a shorter ending to the story, she didn't mention anybody dying, and she just said "we won, you're safe, and nobody is going to come after you now. We can go back to normal, be a family again. We can forget the magic for a while, I can just be Hermione, your daughter, not Hermione the witch."

She noticed the look that passed between her mother and father at this, they had something to say, but they weren't going to say it. Their middle-class British decorum often meant that difficult things were often left unsaid, unless they absolutely had to be.

"We'll always be a family." Her mother answered. "We are however very disappointed in the choices you have made this year. I'm sure we will get a chance to talk about them later, but for now, my God, are we glad to have you back." She reached up and stroked her hands down Hermione's hair as if she did not quite believe that she was there.

"I'm glad that you've settled into Australia. Did you find jobs quickly? I researched it and this seemed like the best place to be."

"Wait, what are you saying?" Her mother asked with a confused smile.

Her Dad stared at her, he had always been stern, loving yes, but stern. And right now there was a look of deep inner fury that sometimes made her worry that he was heading towards a stroke because containing that much anger could not be good for a man his age.

"It means Susan, that Hermione not only decided to wipe our memories, she also decided to suggest to us that we move to Australia."

"I just thought you were going through a midlife crisis.” Hermione’s Mum said looking confused. “It seemed like a good thing to move though, exciting, settling down to start a new life."

"I thought that we had taught you not to play games with other people?" Her father had said.

"I was trying to save you." Hermione tried to explain. She’d tried, always tried, play it straight, tell people what you think and feel, don’t play games with people’s emotions, don’t make them work to hard for your friendship or your love. These were the words of advice that he had given her once, sat in an ice-cream parlour, one summer when she had been home from Hogwarts. Words she’d believed in, words she’d tried to keep too. It wasn’t her fault that in war you have to do what you must to protect the people you love, it wasn’t her fault that ethics had to take a back seat. None of this was her fault at all, she was just the daughter of some dentists who’d found herself in a magical world, and fallen in love with it, not knowing it was only a few years away from the brink of war.

"Kevin, our daughter is home. We can shout at her later, for now I'm making your favourite butternut squash curry." Hermione noticed the lingering look between her mother and father, a look of warning and weariness. "Why don't you show Hermione to the spare room? She's had a long journey."

Over the next few days there were a lot of whispered conversations that stopped when she walked into the room, and some shouted conversations that she heard through the walls, loud enough to hear the general angry tone but not loud enough to catch what the argument was about.

Her parents took a few days off work; it was a little awkward, they spent a lot of time sat at the kitchen table, not talking, and occasionally playing cards. Her mother insisted that they go shopping, and her father, always the keen botanist showed her around his garden talking about what he could and couldn't grow in the climate.

It was on the third night that she finally decided that it was time to confront them.

"Mum, Dad."

"We're having kangaroo meatballs, isn't that fun? We had them once at a neighbourhood barbeque, oh, which reminds me, we have one coming up on Saturday, you should come. Everybody has been really friendly since we moved here. We thought we would return to work tomorrow, but I've pinned the bus timetable to the kitchen board. You must go Queen Victoria market, you can find such interesting things, don't you think that’s a good idea Kevin? That Hermione goes and explores the market?”

"Stop by the Botanical gardens." Her father added not looking up from his newspaper.

"Yes, the botanical gardens are good. You can take a book, there’s a lot of benches, you can get some reading in."

"Mum, Dad, what's going on? Since I came back you've seemed unsettled."

Her parents met each other's eyes over the table. Susan Granger put a big bowl of salad on the table.

"We need to talk." She said.

"Okay, let's talk, because in all fairness, I can't continue to feel like a stranger with my own parents. I know that a lot has changed. I know that being a witch has put a barrier up between us. I know that I live in a different world, but I'm still me, and I'll always be me. I know this, but at the moment I don't feel like me, I feel like I've lost something, and you're my parents." Hermione's eyes started to tear up. "A lot has happened, and I feel like I can't find myself anymore. You're my parents, you know who I am. I need your help. I need to find who I am again."

"Hermione." Her mother took her hand. "Of course we're your parents, we will always be your parents, and we will help you in whatever way we can. I mean, we still have the money your grandmother left you, it was meant to be for university. It might be hard to find a subject that matches what you've been doing, maybe nutrition or biology; you said you did things with plants. I'm sure if you wanted you could do botany, your Dad could give you loads of books on plants. I mean, we're proud of you, we're proud of what you're doing. But if you don't want to do it anymore, well, we'll help. But, well, it's not that we're not happy you're back."

"Not at all." Her Dad agreed.

"You see, the thing is, when your Dad and I moved here it was for a new start. I know now that it was actually because you tampered with our minds, but we thought it was for a new start. You have to understand Hermione, we always wanted a baby, you were our baby, and you were always enough for us. Then you eraised our memories of ever having a baby and we went straight back to wanting one, really wanting one.”

Hermione stared at her parents; she couldn't take in what they were saying.

"We always wanted a child, Hermione." Her father said.

"But you have a child, I'm your child."

"You made us forget you. We had no idea why we didn't have children. We thought that we couldn't, and with your mother being forty-three, well, we thought it was the last chance."

"We never actually though it would happen. Not at our ages."

Hermione looked at her mother, really looked, and what she saw was a woman who looked happier and younger than she had seen her in years. She had thought that Australia was agreeing with her, but now, she was beginning to understand that it was something else.

"You're pregnant." She said.

Her mother beamed at her, Hermione turned to look at her father, he looked wearier, but the silence told her it was true. She was floored, she had never expected her parents to have another child, they had always said that by having only one child they could give her more time and resources, that she was enough for them. It had been years since she had stopped wishing for a sibling. Another part of her felt terribly guilty, had her interference in her parents' lives forced a child onto them? A child that they would never have had if she hadn't wiped their memories?

"We have to find another name though, if it's was girl, we were going to call her Hermione. I knew if I ever had a daughter she would be called Hermione. That means that a part of me remembered you, doesn't it? I didn't forget you entirely. I couldn't forget you entirely. We probably wanted a child so much because we were longing for you."

"No Mum, you didn't forget me entirely." Hermione said kindly, knowing that forgetting her would be a permanent guilt in her mother's mind, just like how the memory spell she cast on them would be a guilt she carried for the rest of her life.

"Is it a girl?"

"We don't know yet, we had the first scan last week, but we won't know the sex for another two months."

Hermione nodded.

"You need a new girls name then?"

"Yes. If a boy we were going to go with Sebastian. Perhaps you can help us pick the new girls name?” Her mother said hopefully.

"I'll think about it."

"You're okay with this aren't you Hermione? We know it's a surprise. But you know that you'll always be our daughter, and we're going to help you get sorted out, we're going to find a way to get you back on your feet. This doesn't change anything."

Somehow it changes everything, Hermione thought to herself.

"You're going to be such a good big sister. I mean, this baby is going to think you're so great, and when he or she is a teenager then we're going to be quite old, and maybe not that able to keep up, but they'll have you to have fun with."

"Yes." Hermione said with a smile. "They can come and stay with me on holidays."

"Exactly, this is something to look forwards to."

It was as if her whole life had changed, it wasn't just that she was about to become a sister, at eighteen. It wasn't that she was supposed to leave school this year; it wasn't that she had lost friends, and been tortured, and scarred for life. It was that all of those things had happened within a few months, and it was all too much, she just couldn’t comprehend any more changes. She just wanted the world to stop spinning, just for a moment, just so she could catch her breath.

That night as she had closed her eyes she could see Professor Lupin’s grey face staring up at her. As she watched the skin seemed to slip from his face, melting into wax and pooling around his ears, muscles torn and bleeding, watery eyes staring. She saw Harry lying in Hagrid's arms but this time she knew he wasn't going to come back. She felt the invisible ropes cutting into her skin, she felt herself being yanked upwards. She was looking straight into the eyes of Voldemort, when he raised his wand Hermione looked for Draco in the crowd. When this had happened his interference had saved her, but now instead of raising his wand, he sneered at her.

"Kill the mudblood."

She turned her head, looking for help, but where her friends were previously stood there was a wall of deatheater masks.

"She's not one of us." She heard a jeering laugh.

The ropes tightened and she felt blood trickling down her wrists.

"Crucio."

She began to scream.

"Hermione, Hermione!"

Hermione sprang back from the figure staring down at her. She could barely see, moonlight was filtering into the room though open curtains. The figure was wrapped in black robes, and she could just make out the paleness of his skin. She backed into the corner, she tried to reach for her wand but she couldn't find it.

“Hermione, it's okay."

The voice was familiar, but she didn't know where she was. Where had she been? Hogwarts?

Voldemort had been there, Harry was dead.

"Kevin."

She looked towards the doorway, there was another figure there. It was her mother, she was sure of it. Then everything fell into place. She was at her parents' house in Melbourne. She was in the guest room, the figure on the bed was her Dad, he was wearing the black dressing gown she had given him a few Christmas's ago.

She stared between the two of them.

"I need to make a call." She said standing up.

"Hermione it's one in the morning." Her mother said stepping into the room. "Hermione, you were screaming."

"It was just a nightmare; I need to call Harry."

"Harry Potter, your school friend? Why do you need to talk to him?"

"Sue, go back to bed." Her dad said. "The doctor said you need to get plenty of rest.”

"Yes, go back to bed, sorry mum." Hermione said, her head clearing slightly, but her heart still thudding loudly in her chest. Her hands still shaking.

Her mother stared at Hermione, dithering in the doorway as if unsure whether to stay or go, but then she shrugged and turned away.

"Try and get some sleep, alright."

"Aright, go to bed Mum. You need to sleep for the baby."

Hermione and her father waited in silence until they heard the door of her parents’ room close, somehow knowing that whatever had to be said shouldn’t be said in front of her mother.

"I'm going to make you some coco, but first, we need to have a conversation about what to do. Screaming at night is not normal Hermione; we need to get you help. I'm booking you in to see a doctor tomorrow, and I think that counselling would be the best."

Hermione nodded.

"What was the nightmare Hermione?”

"I dreamt my friend Harry was dead."

"Why? Are you romantically involved with this boy?"

"I dream that he's dead, and that's the first place you go to?"

"Imagining him dead is not normal. I just thought that your anxiety about him might be to do with some sort of romantic interest. Young people and hormones."

"No, there was a point a few months ago when I really thought he was dead, and that’s what the nightmare was about." It wasn’t a lie. It was just a shortened, simplified version of the truth.

"What happened? Why did you think he was dead?"

Hermione looked up at her father, and she made the decision then which she knew was closing a door to her parents for life. They could not help her, they could not understand, they were dentists, and good people, they went to church on Sunday's, they believed in working hard, studying hard, and going on holiday to southern France every year. They gave money to an orphanage in Thailand and attended school fairs and neighbour's barbeques. They did not understand what it was to have been involved in a war or battle, and she didn't want them to understand, she wanted them to stay the same people they had always been.

"There was an accident, in the woods, he fell and hit his head. There was so much blood, so much blood on the ground, I never knew a person could lose that much blood and live." She shook her head trying to get rid of the image of Malfoy, crumpled on the ground, which had come unwanted into her mind.

"I still can't believe you spent the entire year living out in the woods. We should have sent you to Princess Helena's, they had such a dedicated language department, you would be speaking Mandarin by now. Not screaming at night and sleeping in woods. Never mind, grab the phone from the landing, I'll go make you coco, then tomorrow we'll get you to a doctor and they'll be able to give you something to help you sleep better."

Hermione nodded, she would go to the doctor, for her parent’s sake, but she already had a dreamless sleep potion from Madame Pomfrey. She hadn't thought she needed it, but she'd take it from now on.

She padded out her door and grabbed the phone from the little alcove between her and her parent’s rooms. The mobile had been Harry's idea, he thought that sending owls half way across the globe would be a little draining for them, and that although they could use the fireplaces to talk, with Hermione going back to the muggle world, a muggle solution might be best.

Hermione dialled the number that she had memorised. Harry took a while to pick up, when he did he sounded slightly breathless.

"Hello, Hermione?"

"Harry."

Hermione sighed with relief; he was alive. She had known that, but she had needed to hear his voice, just to stop that little moment of doubt in her mind.

"Did you get the letter? We've all been talking about it, Neville too, and although a lot has changed, we think going back to complete the OWL's might be the best idea."

"What letter?"

"You haven't received it yet? I thought that was why you were calling; wait isn't it the middle of the night over there? Hermione?" Harry started to sound worried.

"I just, I just couldn't sleep."

"Just a minute."

Hermione had the sense that Harry was walking, and she heard a door shutting.

"I can talk now. Nightmare?"

Hermione nodded, before realizing how pointless it was to do so.

"Yes. I just, I just wanted to hear your voice."

"I still have them too you know, I thought they would go when he was gone. But when I have a nightmare now I know that it's not him. I know that it's all over."

"But it doesn't feel over yet."

"I know it doesn't. I'm here Hermione, I'm not good at this stuff, but I will listen."

"Thank you."

"How are things with your parents?"

"They're pregnant."

"What? How is that possible?"

"When I made them forget me they got all confused. They wanted children and couldn't understand why they didn't have a child. So, they got pregnant, apparently the chances of my mother getting pregnant at her age were very low, but it happened. I screwed up their lives Harry. I thought I was doing the best thing for them, I thought they would be safe out here. I never expected this to happen."

"Damn, that's.. that's unexpected. But you know, I think they'll love the baby. I don't think you've screwed up their lives. Damn."

"Yeah."

"You should get some sleep. Expect a Hogwarts owl tomorrow, and when it comes give me a call and we'll talk about it. "

"Okay."

"And Hermione, stop beating yourself up. This one was really unexpected; you weren't to know. "

"I'll try."

The owl had arrived the next day. It had dropped the letter in Hermione's lap as she sat outside.

_Dear Miss Granger_

_Given the circumstances of the past year, many of our previous NEWT students missed a part of the year, or do not feel that they received an adequate level of tutelage to be confident in receiving the marks that they deserve._

_Therefore, we offer you two choices:_

_As you, and the rest of your year have not completed NEWT's, and this will have an effect on your ability to find employment, we are offering all of our students the chance to retake their final year. Either in full starting in September and taking the NEWT'S at the end of June, or if they feel capable we will also offer the chance for students to take their NEWT's in December._

_Please reply as to whether you will be attending in September, and how long you aim to stay._

_Yours sincerely ,_ _McGonagall,_

_Headmistress of Hogwarts School of witchcraft and wizardry._

_P.S. I hope you are enjoying a well-earned rest Miss Granger. I myself have holidayed many a time in Australia, if you get a chance then exploring the Great Barrier Reef by bubble head charm is a memorable experience._

Hermione had expected something along these lines. Half of this year's Hogwarts students had been taken out of school, their blood not being pure enough, or their families too worried about the Carrows to send them. The other half had been running around fighting some small battles, trying to save first years from being tortured, training in Dumbledore's army, and spreading propaganda. Excellent exam results were not to be expected. Offering, but not demanding, that the year seven students retake the year seemed to her to be the obvious choice. Neither was she surprised to see that McGonagall had been made into head teacher, she was the obvious choice. The thing Hermione had not expected was the personal message, and she appreciated it, she’d always like McGonagall, and it was nice of her to have taken the time.

A few months previous Hermione would have leaped at the chance to go back to Hogwarts, and to have more study time to complete her exams. But now, though a part of her knew she would be going back, she was not as enthralled with the idea as she should have been.

Hogwarts was no longer that magical place where her friends were, where she was respected and by most marginally liked. Hogwarts no

longer represented a safe haven, even after Cedric's death she'd still felt safe within its walls, now half those walls weren't there anymore.

She knew she would go back.

What other option did she have?


End file.
